Don't Buy Me No Flowers
by kissmelikeapirate
Summary: A chance meeting over a crushed bouquet of roses is enough to convince Killian Jones that Emma Swan is the woman for him.
1. Chapter 1

Face tensed in concentration, Killian focused on the lillies out before him. The pinks and creams blended together in pleasing harmony, but there was something missing. Texture. Movement. As he reached for his pruning shears he stifled a wry groan. If only his old work mates could see him now. Lieutenant Killian Jones, outstanding officer in her majesty's navy, capable, strong ( _masculine_ )... a florist. Almost, anyway. Once his community college certification was complete.

From the front of the store he heard a soft groan followed by a loud whisper of, "Snickerdoodles!"

Killian smirked. His sister-in-law's inability to swear never failed to tickle him. Dropping the shears, he headed for the curtain that separated the two parts of the store.

"Alright Else?"

As he stepped into the main part of the business, the blonde was staring intently at a sales note.

"Yes…" she replied, the crease between her brows growing deeper. Then she sighed. "Actually no."

She turned and placed a hand on the large bump that was barely concealed by her crisp, cream apron. "I took this order earlier and I thought it was for delivery tomorrow, but no, silly Elsa, it's due for today."

Killian glanced at the clock above the door that led out onto Main Street. It was almost 5.

"A small mistake, love. You've been growing a baby, anyone can forgive you being a little absentminded."

She gave him a wry smile. "Maybe in some cases, but he specified that they must be delivered by seven pm. And he's not the kind of person who I'd like to get on the wrong side of."

"Oh?"

She sighed. "It's that guy Walsh - who owns the furniture store on Ocean Drive?" Killian nodded his understanding. "Well he always seems nice enough, but that smile of his. It doesn't reach his eyes. I don't trust him."

Killian knew better than to argue against his sister-in-law's almost supernatural powers of perception when it came to others. "Alright then. Give me the order and I'll get it ready, we can get leroy into deliver it-"

"He's already on his way to his brother's for the weekend. I let him off early. You know how close they are."

With a shake of his head, Killian was already reaching for the paper in her hand. "Fine, I'll deliver it. Not like I have any better plans for my Friday night."

"You really don't mind?" she asked, her hands concentrating on cradling her bump as he was already turning back to the workroom.

"You concentrate on growing my nephew and I'll keep your business afloat."

There was a smile in his tone as he slid back beneath the curtain, her barely audible mutter of 'Don't be so cocky," turning it into a full blown grin.

/

One dozen white roses. Perfectly pruned, wrapped in sheer silver paper and tied with a white bow, as per the very particular instructions given on the order. As he retrieved the flowers from the passenger seat of his car, he checked that the small card he'd written out earlier was still attached. It was there, encased in an ecru envelope, as austere as the rest of the arrangement.

He swung the door closed, his left hand cramping as his fingers flexed against the handle. The muscles went into spasm, clenching and stretching as waited for the attack to finish. After a few seconds, the pain passed and his hand returned to its usual state of limited movement and feeling. He was used to it by now, almost 18 months since the accident that had almost cost him his hand and certainly cost him his career at sea.

Human error, they had said. No one's fault, was the verdict, following the series of event that crushed his hand. After six months it was clear that he would never regain full use of the appendage. He was never going to be happy behind a desk so he'd taken an honourable discharge and ventured on an extended trip to stay with his brother and his new wife. And here he was still, so many months later.

He shook away thoughts of the turbulent period behind him and checked he had the correct address. _Emma Swan- Apt. 5a, 100 Oak Ave_. He tucked the details back into his pocket and let him imagine who this Emma Swan might be- a game he liked to play on the odd occasions that he took care of a delivery. Would she be an ice queen as the flowers suggested she might be? All neutral tones and groomed to within an inch of her life? Well, she was dating that creepy furniture store owner. Was- past tense, it seemed. The card had only two words. 'Forgive me'. Short, not exactly open to interpretation. But also… cold? No pleas, no passion.

Stifling a snort, he made his way into the small apartment building, finding the correct door and pressing the doorbell as he impatiently shifted from foot to foot. Impatient to… well, nothing. He had a long standing Friday date with netflix and a bottle of rum. Regardless, it seemed like an age before the patter of footsteps reached his ears. He tensed, ready to thrust the bouquet into the thorny hands of Ms. Swan and make a quick escape.

He was mentally loading up the next episode of _The Greatest Catch_ when the door suddenly wrenched open and a whirl of blonde hair and pent up energy screeched, "WHAT?"

Taken aback for a moment, Killian let his mouth open slightly as he took in the sight: red dress, stiletto heels, tumbling curls.

"I, um-"

He held out the bouquet of flowers, not quite sure what to say to the woman before him with fiery green eyes and a scowl etched on her full lips. She stared at the roses, giving him a moment to compose himself and evaluate the situation. Time to take in just how perfectly the dress was molded to her body. And even more so, just how utterly gorgeous she was from head to toe. Clearly she wasn't wasting any time on that loser.

"Looks like you moved on then," he grinned, keeping the expression on his face as she took the flowers from his grip. She looked up at him, her expression blank. "Date?" he added, gesturing to her attire.

She narrowed her eyes as she pulled out the card. "It's for a job," she snapped. And then he was faced with a whole other load of questions. "I'm not a hooker," she clarified, her tone just a little exasperated.

He wasn't exactly going to suggest that but it did eliminate one possibility. "So what-"

He wasn't able to finish his question, as the next this he knew the carefully constructed arrangement was slapped against the floor and stomped on with one glossy stiletto. "That asshole!" she screamed, scrunching the delicate petals into the tile that lined the hallway. "Jerk!" she added, before tearing up the card with a quite amazing amount of anger.

Killian stared. All at once he was scared… and just a little turned on. Far from being an ice queen, Ms. Swan was more like some kind of fiery siren, all passion and fire. Enough that could even let him overlook her bad taste in mediocre furniture purveyors. For a moment both were silent. She seethed, her chest rising and falling in a distracting motion that drew his eyes to her… assets. He was intrigued, more so than he had been by any woman in, well, quite some time. He also had a strong sense of self-preservation and knew that now was not the time to make his appreciation of her virtues apparent. So he tried to offer a conciliatory smile, enough to step away, enough to let him leave and then later make a few discrete enquiries among those he knew in the small town- surely someone knew more about this woman. No, _woman_ was inadequate. This… force of nature.

Slowly, he turned away.

"Hey," she snapped, causing him to glance back and catch her eye, "If that asshole tries to send me any more 'peace offerings', don't waste your time coming out here." She glanced at the mangled roses. "Seems a waste," she finished, before storming back into the apartment- giving him an all too perfect view of her shapely legs and tightly clad derriere.

When the door finally slammed shut, he looked up and grimaced. "I'm in trouble," he muttered, before sloping back to his car, ready to bury himself in rum and thoughts of Ms. Swan.


	2. Chapter 2

The soft hum of local radio filled the back room of 'Frozen Blooms'. Being a Wednesday, things were pretty quiet so Killian was taking the time to catch up on the arrangement he was crafting for his final college exams, safe in the knowledge that the bell above the door would alert him to any customers as Elsa took her lunch break. He hummed softly along to the sound of easy listening as he worked, sorting and mixing varieties, searching for that special something that would give them the 'wow' factor. Realistically, he had already passed on credits alone. But he had always been the competitive type and he planned to get the highest grade possible. It was in his blood. And he knew he could do it.

Even thinking about that made him grin to himself. He'd been as surprised as anyone when he had discovered an aptitude for floristry. It had only take a few weeks of kicking about in Liam and Elsa's ramshackle house out by the woods for him to become restless. A vacancy at the florist shop and a teasing comment from Liam that ' _you'd be rubbish at that_ ' had stoked a fire in him, and before he knew it he was whipping up bouquets like no one's business. And he was actually talented. Good enough to work for a real certification at Storybrooke Community College. Good enough for Elsa even to make hints about him entering something into the town's Summer Craft Fair in a couple of months. Whatever may come from this newfound skill, he had learned that working with flowers and plants was one of the few things that helped him forget the numbness in his fingers and the lack of flexibility in those digits didn't seem to impinge at all on his abilities. In fact, floristry seemed to bring upon him an utter sense of calm that he hadn't felt since he had had to cut his career short.

It was almost one pm, and time for Elsa to return, when the sound of the bell above the door ringing was quickly followed by the clatter of said door being slammed shut. Eyebrow quirked, he quickly wiped his hands on the rag he kept for such things and headed through the curtain into the store.

He was barely past the threshold when he registered just who had slammed the door, his breath catching.

It was… her. Same fiery green eyes and golden hair. Minus the red dress - instead, she was clad in a blood red leather jacket and skin tight dark jeans. An altogether less revealing but somehow even more alluring prospect. Surprised, it took a moment for him to collect himself. And notice the scowl she wore on her lovely features.

"May I help you?" he asked, pulling back his shoulders and arranging his face in the best interpretation of nonchalance he could muster.

Miss Swan- _Emma,_ he remembered- rolled her eyes and a second later an abused bouquet of white roses slammed on the countertop between them. Petals scattered. Her scowl deepened.

Killian cocked his jaw and placed his hands on his hips.

"I said no more flowers," she replied, with barely suppressed rage seeping from every pore.

His brows pinched together, not quite expecting that as an opening line from the woman who had captured his imagination only a few days earlier.

"Aye, I remember," he said, uncertain just where she was going to take this fresh tirade.

Haughtily, she folded her arms and gave him an incredulous look. "And?"

Killian let out a soft snort of laughter and shook his head as he examined the unfortunate blooms. "Well, first, if one doesn't want to receive flowers it's customary to inform the sender."

She opened her mouth to reply but he held up a finger to silence her.

"And, in case you are not aware, I am not the sole employee of Frozen Blooms. My employer must have arranged this yesterday - my day off - therefore I can assume no responsibility for said arrangement."

She glared at him for a moment and her expression showed a flicker of hesitancy. Finally she shifted, folding her arms and taking a deep breath . "You could have warned your _co-workers,_ " she hissed, though the tone of her voice did not match the uncertain way her lips began to thin.

With a confident smile, Killian lifted up the hatch on the counter that allowed access to where she stood. His hands slid into his pockets - ever conscious of the stiffness of his lame hand and how easily it was often noticed - and he gave her a haughty glance. "Sadly your romantic woes are not on the top of my agenda list."

She was silent, pursing her lips even further. He'd hit a nerve.

"And if I may presume to give you some advice?"

The blonde watched him, her eyes skittering across his face.

"Your rage seems somewhat misdirected." His voice softening, he stepped a little closer to she was within touching distance. The strange intimacy of the shadowed shop, empty of all but him and her, made him bold enough to speak his mind. "He's not worth it."

There was a pause, enough for a heartbeat.

"And what would you know?"

Indeed, what would Killian Jones know of romantic woes? The man who had shunned all romantic entanglements for so long that women - beyond merely the physical - were seemingly as much a mystery to him as particle physics. But one thing he was aware of was that she deserved better.

"Whatever he did - to make you… hate him so much - he couldn't have cared for you." He took a second to gauge her guarded reaction. "More fool him."

As the two took the measure of each other, to the sound of the ticking clock behind them, the front door opened again, Elsa flauncing in with her arms laden with bags from the town's best baby boutique.

"Perfect timing," he smiled, an idea forming. "How about you buy me to a coffee to apologise."

"For what?"

"For shouting at me. As much as I enjoy being the subject of your misdirected rage."

For a moment he thought he had pushed too far, that their verbal sparring had not, in fact, been a sign that she was in some way interested in him.

Finally, she sighed. "Well I was about to head to Granny's-"

"Perfect," he nodded. "Elsa, I'm just heading out on my break."

And before either woman could say further on the subject he was pulling off his apron and reaching for his coat.

/

Granny's was the only place for lunch in town. Which was a good thing as it served the best coffee Killian had ever tasted and had a retro-kitsch interior that just screamed Americana (and he had been reliably informed had not changed in at least a few decades).

They sat at the counter on vinyl topped stools that sagged with age and soundlessly spun, placed their orders with the busy waitress and waited for their coffees and grilled sandwiches to arrive. He'd made sure to sit on her left, his less flexible hand resting on his thigh. With his other hand, Killian toyed with the napkin the waitress had placed before him. "So have you always hated flowers or is this a recent affliction…?"

Emma gave him a sideways glance. "It's recent."

Two steaming mugs of coffee were slid in front of them and the pair busied themselves adding creamers and sugars. Surreptitiously, he watched her through his lashes as he stirred. She really was incredibly beautiful, his first impression had been correct. Even an underestimation. Yet there was a tenseness in her expression, a reservation which seemed at odds with the woman who had destroyed not one - but two bouquets of innocent blooms. She seemed almost skittish, guarded, and he wasn't arrogant enough to take all the credit for that. He decided to try and get her to open up.

"So, the furniture guy. Doesn't seem your type."

He expected some rebuke. Perhaps a comment on him overstepping a line. Instead she sipped her coffee and eyed him quietly.

"That was on purpose," she replied after a few moments. "People have been telling me for years that I have bad taste - that I've gone for the wrong type of guy. And I accept that I've made some… questionable choices in the past."

He raised a brow. "I hear you there."

She digested his comment, running her tongue along her bottom lip in a manner that caught his breath, distracting him until he noticed that their waitress had placed their lunches in front of them.

Emma picked up her sandwich and took a bite. Killian did the same, waiting for her to continue her story.

"So, anyway, when I moved here, I decided to make a new start. Date the kind of man they say is safe. You know, clean cut, has a decent job, holds open the car door for you, that kind of thing."

Killian began to internally speculate just what kind of men she was previously involved with to have such low expectations. He'd always had a strong sense of honour, even before joining the armed forces. Treating women with the utmost respect and chivalry, no matter how temporary their acquaintance. An idea formed that some of the armour she wore, must indeed at least in part be a consequence of some man. Though he loathed to call the fool (or fools) who had hurt this woman by that term.

"Walsh asked me out when I was picking some furniture for my new place. He seemed to fit that description… Well, turns out while we had decided we were exclusive after a few dates, that wasn't stopping him sleeping with someone else."

Killian took in a quick intake of breath. He watched her face for signs of pain, but only saw a deepening frown as she occupied herself with working on her sandwich. It was then that it dawned on him how much she was revealing to a practical stranger. Which then forced more questions… did she have someone? A friend? Family? He had Elsa and Liam; whenever things had gotten difficult for him -especially after his accident - they had been there to shore him up. Without them he wasn't sure how he would have coped.

In lieu of any smart comment, he replied with a simple. "I'm sorry."

She raised a hand. "It's fine. It's not like I… well, just lets say I'm more angry than anything. At him _and_ myself."

Her sandwich all but gone, she had wrapped her hands around the mug emblazoned with Granny's logo and pulled it closer to her. Like she was hiding herself behind that coffee, using it as some kind of shield to conceal just how big an impact the betrayal had had. Not that she thought she had loved him. He couldn't see a woman like her falling for a man like Walsh. The little contact he had had with the other man had shown him to be a bit of a cold fish. Restrained and calculated.

"Don't beat yourself up love. It's not worth it." With that. He crumpled up his napkin and tossed it onto his empty plate. Their efficient waitress was there seconds later clearing away.

" _That_ smacks of personal experience," she replied, a hint of challenge in her tone and even, perhaps, the barest sign of a smile emerging at the edges of her luscious lips.

Lips that caught his attention once more, bringing him away for a moment, sinking the image into his subconscious, for another time. Finally he composed himself with a sip of coffee, dragging his gaze to her green eyes.

"That would involve actually having a love life of my own."

"Wait, what. You can't tell me that you-" she let out a small laugh that was almost magical to his ears, "Come on. Good looking guy like you…"

"You think I'm good looking?"

He grinned. Flirtatious banter her could do. This was familiar territory.

She seemed to feel the shift too, the tension in her face further lifting, rolling her eyes dramatically.

"I've been here just shy of a year and romance has not been at the top of my priority list. And before that I was more asea than ashore," he explained.

"You're a sailor?"

"Ex her majesty's navy," he nodded, enjoying the appreciative look she gave him, watching her take him in, almost like she was reassessing him with this new information at hand, her eyes quickly tracking over his form, her head tilting to one side as questions passed over her face.

"An ex-sailor who is now a florist."

"Indeed," he nodded, with a smile. "Lieutenant Killian Jones. At your service."

He held out his hand, more out of habit than anything else. It also occurred to him that is was the first time he had told her his name.

"Lieutenant," she echoed, taking the hand her offered, grasping it tightly. Her had was warm, smaller than his but not delicate. He felt a strength there within those soft digits. Warm, tingly sparks travelled up his arm from where their skin met in the most innocent of ways. He tried not to show how the simple contact was affecting him. How for a second he was breathless. How his initial interest in her was slowly becoming fascination, tempered by something even basic. An elemental attraction that he wasn't sure he could understand, but certainly wanted to explore.

Slowly, she slid her palm from his. Her hair slid like a curtain between them as she finished her coffee. He wasn't able to see if she had been affected by the contact, but then he'd scoffed at that thought. It was just a handshake. Wasn't it.

"Look, I am actually sorry for shouting at you like that. It's a bit out of character."

"Don't apologise. I like the fiery side of you." He took a second to drain his coffee cup. Their reasons for being in each other's company were coming to a close. And then would he see her again? Perhaps not. And that would not do. "Maybe we could… do this again. You look like you could do with a friend."

She gave him a wry smile as she pulled a few bills from her jeans pocket. "I'm not in the market for a date right now."

He stood and did the same, leaving a healthy tip for the overworked wait staff. He waited as she straightened her hair over her jacket and then met her eye.

"I didn't ask you out. Not everyone who is nice is hitting on you."

And as much as he was attracted to her - he couldn't deny that - he was speaking the truth. She was an enigma to him, more layers becoming uncovered as he got to see the little of herself she revealed. He wanted to know more. He yearned to learn her secrets and all the things that had formed Emma Swan into the complicated woman before him. He wanted to know her. What happened next, was all up to the hands of fate. He tried to ignore the niggling part of his mind that reminded him that it had been years since any woman had come close to intriguing him in this way. Not since the woman who had almost crushed his heart.

She looked at her watch and then back at him. "I have to be somewhere right now."

He deflated a little as he expected her to make her excuses and leave, only to see his spirits rise as she took a pen from her jacket pocket and made a few scribbles on her untouched napkin.

Unceremoniously, she handed it to him with a curt nod.

"Thanks for lunch," he replied, but she was already leaving.

And then he remembered, he'd actually paid for his own damn sandwich.

/

The bus from Storybrooke Elementary was as punctual as ever, stopping at the corner of Fifth and Elm at 2:05 precisely. A gaggle of excited children emerged, ensconced within them a brown haired boy with eyes that reminded her far too much of his father.

Emma pushed away thoughts of him - and all men - as she greeted Henry, pulling her arms around him and revelling in the fact that they had found each other while he was still young enough to let her indulge in such public displays of affection. She held him tight for a moment as he babbled with tales of his day and all little stories of his friends and teachers. When she pulled back she smiled.

"So it was a good day."

"It was a great day," he affirmed, taking her hand as they strolled towards the park. This was part of their routine. Wednesdays, she met him after school, took him to the park and then they went back to her apartment for dinner. That, in addition to every other weekend spent together, was the agreement she had came to with his adopted mother after some rather tense negotiations and the intervention of a county court judge who had agreed that such an arrangement was in Henry's best interests.

"What about you? Catch any bad guys?"

"Not today," she smiled, amused by his innocent view of her line of work.

"So did you do _anything_ exciting then?" he pressed as they waited at the sidewalk to cross into the park.

Her mind flickered to her impromptu lunch with Killian Jones. The mysterious florist with eyes she could just drown in. On first meeting, she had been too irrate to really appreciate just how handsome he was, but now she was under no illusion. He was dangerously attractive. Just the kind of man she had promised herself to now avoid. And then he'd gone and shown himself to be charming and well, nice- She caught that thought. He was almost a stranger. All she really knew was that he liked Monterey Jack in his grilled cheese and knew how to sail a boat. Or ship. Whatever.

And she'd given him her damn phone number.

She noticed Henry was watching her so fixed him with a bright smile.

"It was a pretty boring day," she lied. A few paces later they were in sight of the swing set. "Hey kid, how about we see how high we can get you?"

Like that he was racing away, leaving his mother to hide her heated cheeks and leave all thoughts of Killian Jones to another time, more appropriate, time.


	3. Chapter 3

Henry Mills knew he was a smart kid. Besides being told just that by pretty much every grown up he knew, he also was a lot more self aware than your average eleven year old. Indeed, he looked at other kids his age whose only concerns were computer games and who made the soft ball team and just _knew_ he was different. That isn't to say he wasn't interested in the same things they were - he had a lego collection to rival any elementary schooler. But he had passed the age when he was solely wrapped up in himself and instead his awareness of the world, and those around him, was starting to colour his attitudes and behaviour.

He liked to watch other people - kids _and_ adults -figuring out as best he could what was going on in their heads. What motivated them. In that was he was a thinker, an observer, but also a man of action. After all, how many eleven year olds could have not only located their birth mom but then successfully got to their apartment - in another state- with just a pilfered credit card? He was actually even pretty sure his adoptive mom had been somewhat impressed by that, despite the fact she had yelled at him for a good half hour when he finally returned with Emma in tow.

Currently the one person who had taken up a lot of his thinking time was his mom - his birth mom that is. It had only been a few months since she had made the move to be closer to him. Having her around just felt right, like all the time before he had found her, there had been this nagging feeling that he was missing something and now everything just felt… complete. He knew she was happy too. Sometimes he caught her looking at him, when she didn't think he noticed, with a contented smile on her face.

But, still, there was something missing. He knew she had had a difficult life, she'd told him enough for him to work that out (he was smart, after all). Yet there was something more, loneliness he decided it was. Even though she had him now, she had been by herself for a long time. She reminded him of his other mom and how she had acted before she had found her fiance, Robin. Prickly and defensive. Since she had started dating the local park warden, she had been so much more relaxed. He knew she would deny it but Robin had somehow completed her.

Henry being a problem solver, decided that if he could do something about his other mom's singleness that would make her happier. It worked for Regina, it should work for her too? He just had to find a suitable guy and Storybrooke wasn't exactly full of eligible men of the right age. He'd been looking and so far all his efforts had proven that every guy was either way too old, way too young or way too married.

So it was quite unexpected when the opportunity to do something about his mom's predicament literally walked into him.

Sat upon the mayoral desk, legs dangling, Henry jabbed at his phone, sighing as he saw the time. His mom had promised to take him to the park after her meeting but it seemed to be taking forever. Shoving his phone into his pocket, he decided to take a walk to the vending machine in the lobby area of the town hall. His mom never kept anything other than fruit in her office and right now, he needed candy. He reached for the handle of the etched glass door, just as it swung open, almost slamming him in the face.

"Hey!" he cried, jumping back as an extravagant arrangement of flowers descended upon him.

"Oh!" The large floral display dipped to one side and a smiling face looked down at him. "Sorry lad, didn't see you there."

"Clearly," Henry replied, folding his arms as he assessed the stranger before him. The stranger matched his look, drawing back on his heels as he registered the strangeness of a elementary school kid hanging out in the mayor's office.

"And you are?" he asked, arching a brow.

"Henry. Henry Mills."

"As in Mayor Mills?"

"I'm her son," Henry quipped. "And _you_ are? Other than a florist."

"Trainee florist, lad. And it's Killian Jones."

Killian shifted the bouquet into one arm so he could reach out his right hand. Henry accepted his handshake, it was warm and firm.

"Hmmm." He gave the _trainee_ florist a cursory look. "And you're … British?" he asked, an idea just beginning to form in his mind.

"Quite perceptive for a child, aren't you?" Killian teased as he walked forward and placed the arrangement upon the austere black desk which dominated the room and set the tone for the monochrome, modernist style that Henry's adoptive mother loved so much. His back to Henry as he primped and rearrange the blooms, he was unaware of the boy's critical gaze.

Henry was sure he was about the same age as Emma and he was also pretty sure Killian was what she would think was attractive ( _and he had an accent - wasn't that what girls liked?_ ).

Finally, Killian turned back to face him, a grin brightening up his face. "Listen, I've got to be getting back to the shop…"

Shaken from his thoughts, Henry matched Killian's smile, "Cool - great, I mean."

Killian gave him an odd look, one eyebrow raising.

"Nice to meet you," Henry added, interlacing his fingers behind his back and trying to look as innocent as possible.

"Aye," the man nodded as he edged towards the door. "You too lad."

As the door shut, Henry sighed happily. He knew just how to put a smile on his mom's face.

He really had the _best_ ideas!

* * *

Whoever had heard of Teachers Day? Mothers Day, yes. Even Grandparents Day was a thing. Emma had even indulged in National Cheeseburger Day, but this one was new.

Her son had texted her the night before insisting that he needed a bouquet of flowers for his homeroom teacher and that she _had_ to help him choose. (Which she took as meaning he didn't want to spend his allowance on those flowers.)

She'd waited for him at the bus stop as usual, expecting he'd want to pick out one of the little posies that they sold in the grocery store for such occasions, but no.

"Mom, everyone will have the same ones! Miss Blanchard is special and she deserves _real_ flowers!"

She'd learned quite quickly that arguing with Henry was a tricky proposition. The kid had a comeback for everything. And truthfully, she couldn't disagree with him right now. His teacher was pretty amazing if the enthusiasm Henry had for his studies was any indication.

"Fine," she'd sighed, letting him take her hand and drag him down Main Street towards… Frozen Blooms.

A sudden tightness in her chest was accompanied by a breathless sensation that she struggled to place for a moment.

 _Killian._

Oh God, she thought, quickly assessing her crumpled shirt and unbrushed hair. She hadn't been counting on seeing him, well, ever. She'd given her number to him a week ago and he hadn't called. So she'd assumed…

 _Damn._

Here she was, walking into his place of work again, how would that look? Hell, she could only hope he wasn't working. She could pray he had the day or the afternoon off. She wasn't great with rejection, even in the ambiguous circumstances of a number given upon a paper napkin after the strangest non-date lunch date. Her mind was full of these thoughts, Henry walking in step beside her… when suddenly, Henry broke into a run, his backpack bouncing round as he raced with unexpected speed towards the store. It took Emma a moment to react, muttering a soft 'urgh' before she raced after her son.

* * *

By mid afternoon Elsa had already left for the day. She'd been gradually reducing her hours and with only four weeks left until she gave birth Killian was thankful that she was finally taking the time to rest. He also saw it as confirmation that she trusted him with her business, which gave him an unexpected feeling of pride. He was spending the afternoon going through the accounts for the month ahead, getting a feel for the responsibilities he would be taking on while Elsa took her maternity leave.

When the door to the store sprang open, the bell clattering loudly, Killian quickly raised his head. He opened his mouth to speak but the kid in the doorway beat him to it.

"Killian!" the boy smiled, stomping into the store, straight towards the countertop where Killian was reviewing the next day's bookings.

"Hello… lad," Killian replied, his surprise barely masked. After a moment's pause he added, "Henry, isn't it?"

""Yeah, Henry," the boy replied, staring up at the Killian with his arms folded on the countertop. Being not a great deal taller than said countertop, it was a somewhat amusing sight. A few seconds passed where the boy grinned and Killian stared, a little bit lost for words. It wasn't often that they got pre-teen customers, Frozen Blooms being securely in the mid to high range price category.

Finally, the boy spoke. "My mom's on her way," he explained, hitching his thumb at the door behind him.

Killian tipped his head to the side. The mayor didn't ever visit the store. Her orders were placed by phone. By her assistant.

"Your- um, okay…"

The words had barely left his mouth when the door rang again - this time a little more gently.

And if he'd thought the boy's appearance had confused him, the woman who now entered had an altogether different effect.

"Emma?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

"Mom!"

Before he had a chance to speak further, the boy was running over to the door and dragging Emma Swan towards him. Emma Swan whom he had not seen for a week and was beginning to think would never see again.

It took a moment for him to collect his thoughts. Then, he addressed the boy.

"Wait. I thought you said that the _mayor_ was your mum."

With a roll of his eyes, Henry gave Killian a pointed look. "She is. My _adoptive_ mom. Emma is my _birth_ mom."

For her part, Emma was barely less composed than Killian after her dash along Main Street. If she had thought she was prepared to see Killian, she was wrong. She'd wanted to play this all cool, like she wasn't affected by him and his handsomeness and his Britishness and his… his _Killian-ness_. Instead, after only seconds in his presence, she felt flushed and anxious and like this was one huge mistake that her pride was going to take a while to recover from.

Killian met her eyes and she gave him a wary look, a wave of heat rising over her, before she pursed her lips and turned to her son. "Kid, he doesn't need your life story," she warned.

Killian cleared his throat. "Actually I think it's pretty cool. You're a lucky lad getting two mums."

Henry shrugged, with the easy innocent nonchalance of a child. "I know. Hey, can I go look at the flowers? Maybe you could talk to my mom while I browse?" His brows raised at that and Killian got the impression that flowers were not the only thing on the boy's mind that afternoon.

"Go ahead." Killian gestured to the displays. Henry quickly slipped off his backpack which Emma deftly grabbed before it fell to the floor and then he wandered off among the buckets of blooms.

Emma waited until he was out of earshot. She quickly licked her lips and shifted Henry's bag onto her shoulder. "Sorry he's - he can be hard work."

Killian was looking over her shoulder, watching Henry smell the blooms, lifting them gently to his nose, running the petals between his finger and thumb. "I think he's delightful. We met yesterday when I was delivering flowers to the town hall. Hence the confusion."

"Ahh," she sighed, relaxing her hip against the counter as Killian fixed his full attention back towards her. "I see."

So her son had met Killian and suddenly developed an urgent desire to purchase flowers. Go figure. She'd never really thought of Henry as a matchmaker, but he always had a scheme or 'operation' as he liked to call them in the works. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that he was trying to fix her up. After all his adoptive mother was happily in a relationship with a step child to boot. Kids always seemed to see things simply. Maybe he thought that the secret to making her settled in Storybrooke was to match her up with some guy.

And he had chosen _this_ guy. Go figure.

For a minute or so, the pair watched the boy, fully engrossed in his interrogation of the flowers. The silence was not uncomfortable. Emma shoved her hands in her back pockets and began to imagine this interaction might be over as painlessly and easily as a swift purchase could make it.

But then she hear the silky burr of his voice, just low enough for her to hear him.

"I'm actually really glad you came in."

She slowly pivoted on her heel, lifting her chin and feigning nonchalance. His cheeks were tellingly reddened and she relaxed, just a little. She was pleased to see he was at least a little flustered by the situation.

"Oh?' she asked.

He smiled softly. "I'm embarrassed to say that your telephone number met with a wet end in the washing machine."

"Huh?"

"I put it in my pocket - for safekeeping -" He blushed even deeper, crimson red and, _god damn,_ she liked him.

It was now or never. Brush it off. Laugh. Play the fool. Or- seize the moment. Give him another chance.

Her heart really couldn't take being hurt, but still…

"Give me your phone," she ordered, stretching her hand across the counter.

He raised a brow but complied, pulling his mobile phone from his back pocket and slipping it into her hand, their fingers brushing with a tingle of electricity. Biting her lip, she typed in her number.

"No excuses this time."

She handed him the phone back as Henry rushed up with a handful of pink blooms. Perfect timing to avoid an awkward moment.

"Mom I want these."

Killian's attention, which had been transfixed upon Emma, immediately switched to the boy. He placed a warm expression upon his face and took the flowers from his hand.

"Peonies. Good choice lad. Shall I wrap them for you?"

Henry nodded. "And pink ribbon too. Miss Blanchard loves pink."

Emma ruffled her son's hair as Killian turned away to the workspace behind him. Henry wore a happy smile on his face and he folded his arms as he watched Killian curl the ribbon.

"What?" Emma asked, now in almost no doubt of her son's intentions.

"Nothing," he grinned sweetly in reply.

 _Yeah right,_ Emma thought. But strangely for her, she left it at that.

* * *

It was almost ten by the time Emma got to the dishes she had Henry had created. He'd decided today he wanted to cook rather than go to Granny's, so they'd spent the afternoon making tacos and then settled in to watch a movie before she had to take him home.

She was already looking for a place with a second bedroom so he could stay more. The times he did sleep over, she used the couch pullout but she knew he was getting older and needed his own room.

The last suds were draining away when her phone chirped. She wiped her hands and picked it up.

 _-Hey. It's Killian._

Her heart rate picked up a little. A flutter in her chest that she quickly metered. She moistened her lips and walked to the couch, tucking her legs under herself as she composed her reply.

 _-Hey Lieutenant. I see you did not lose my number this time._

She smiled as she tapped send.

 _-Once is a mistake. Twice would have just been careless._

Emma felt the dimples press into her cheeks as she read his reply.

 _-That's very true_

There was a minute or so's pause, where the little dots indicating he was typing teased her.

 _-How's Henry?_

 _-Back at his other mom's. He only stays with me on weekends. Better for school._

 _-That makes sense._

She was mentally deciding what to say in reply when he texted again.

 _-Are you busy then?_

Her heart rate skipped up once more. A rose flutter in her chest. She bit her lip, tentative fingers composing a reply.

 _-Not really_

Barely a few seconds later-

 _-How about a coffee at Granny's? Much easier to chat in person, no?_

Despite all her reservations, it was easy to make the decision.

 _-Give me ten minutes._

* * *

Killian played with his napkin as he waited. He'd been in his car heading to the diner mere moments after her reply. In fact, he had been itching to see her again since that afternoon. As soon as she had left the store he'd found himself unable to think of much else. _Emma Swan. Emma Swan…_

Had he ever been so taken by someone? Certainly not for a very long time.

Preoccupied, it was with surprise that he noticed Emma had arrived and was sliding into the booth across from him. She gave him a tentative smile as she shrugged out of her jacket. "So do you often frequent the diner late at night? Or are you making a special exception for me?"

There was teasing in her words, so the option was there to make light of her comment with his reply. But instead he found honesty falling from his lips. "Sometimes. I live with my brother and sister in law. Occasionally I just need some space, as wonderful as they are."

For a moment, she studied him, as if soaking in the full meaning of his words. "That makes sense," she finally said before quickly giving her order to the cheerful waitress who had stopped by the booth. "I actually grew up in foster care and had to share a room far more often than I ever had my own."

"That must have been difficult," he replied sincerely.

She shrugged as the waitress brought over a cup of strong black coffee. "I always appreciate privacy now for sure. But you know, whatever your reality is, especially as a kid, you deal with it. It was my normal."

She focused on stirring in her creamer and sugar as she digested what she had just said. It wasn't often that she talked about her childhood. Especially to someone she barely knew. The effect he had of making her feel comfortable sharing such things was a little unnerving. She shook off that thought and took a sip.

There was a moment of silence, companionable not awkward. Killian didn't feel the need to say anything as she relaxed against the red leather of the booth, her hands clutched possessively around her mug. He appreciated the piece of herself she had just revealed to him. He had been right, she was an enigma whose layers he was eager to start peeling away.

That thought startled him back into the moment and a question he had had since that afternoon.

"Henry… you and the Mayor. How does that work?"

Emma smiled at the mention of her son's name. "It's complicated. I won't lie. I was young when he was born."

"His father?"

She shook her head. "He wasn't on the scene. I decided that he would be better off being adopted into a family who knew how to raise a kid. I didn't think I could be a mom."

A frown line formed between her brows. He resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it away with his thumb.

He sighed softly instead. "You wanted to give him his best chance."

She stared at him. That was it. Exactly it. Something in her heart softened, a part of her that she hadn't realized she had let harden. No one had ever understood so easily.

"So, you tracked him down?"

She laughed softly. "Other way 'round. He found me. And then I knew I couldn't let him go again."

Killian let out a soft breath. He was transfixed by the warm look that came over her face as she talked about the boy.

"That's an amazing tale."

Emma nodded. "Yeah. He's a pretty amazing kid."

The waitress came by and topped off their drinks. They both smiled in thanks.

"So, how are _you_?" he asked, raising a sympathetic brow, hoping she understood his meaning. He didn't want to mention the name of that fool again.

Looking up, Emma met his eyes. "I'm fine. The anger has faded and now I'm just concentrating on avoiding him until he gets the message. At least he never met Henry."

"Oh?"

She gave him a pointed look, "I may be new to this parenting thing but I know I don't want him to meet anyone I'm involved with until I know it's going somewhere."

"That sounds reasonable."

Running her hand over an invisible mark on the table, she mused for a moment on just how easy this was. Talking like that had known each other forever. She decided to delve deeper.

"What about you - any kids?"

He shook his head. "No. Came close once, but that was a long time ago. She was older. Still married, if I'm honest. We were at different places in our lives."

Without judgement, she nodded. She got it. "It is all about timing. I wasn't ready when Henry was born, but now I feel it. I mean, ready to take on the challenge. I'm just lucky he gave me the chance."

"And he is lucky to have you."

She detected no falsity in his words. No underlying deception or motive. Her protective walls flickered about her. She was always wary of new people. Especially men. But he seemed, well, good. She'd learned to be pretty good at reading people over the years and she wasn't picking up any hidden agenda. She was so used to men disappointing her that she wasn't quite sure how to respond.

In addition, she was cautious to the fact she had just left one less than successful romantic entanglement. She decided it would be best to steer the conversation into more neutral and friend-like territory.

They shared tales of their moves to Storybrooke- although he avoided explaining in detail why he had left the navy, she knew that was a story left better for another day. She told him a little more about her job and how she spent quite a lot of time on the road, but was reducing that now that Henry was back in her life. Quickly almost an hour slipped by.

Reluctantly she drained her cup and looked at her watch. "I'd better go, I need to be on the road to Portland by eight."

She started to stand and he followed, both pulling on their coats.

"I'll see you out."

"My car's around back," she explained, and he nodded, leaving some bills on the table for their coffee and waving a hand to the waitress to say they were leaving. They walked in silence to the back door of the diner.

Although it was almost June, there was still a nip to the air. As they stepped into the alleyway, the chill wrapped around them and seemed to seep beneath the leather of her jacket. She paused as the door closed behind them and shivered involuntarily.

Killian stopped behind her, running his hands over her arms, the instant warmth deeply pleasant and accompanied by an altogether more exciting feeling, overcoming the initial start his touch had evoked.

"Thank you," she whispered, turning back her head to meet his eyes, still startlingly blue even in the moonlight.

She let herself drink in the moment. The warmth of his hands on her, the feeling of his body behind. There was a buzz in the air. The only sounds were the distant echo of Granny's jukebox and the chirp of the crickets who had begun to wake from their hibernation.

"Emma-" he began, her name catching on his lips, his voice silky and stroking a flame of something hot up her spine.

Her breath hitched. She saw his eyes flicker to her lips. They were alone. It was dark.

 _Private._

She should be cautious, her mind was telling her to walk away, take things slow. But her heart and her gut were louder. They told her that this was right, that this was a moment and a connection she needed to pursue.

Her instincts took over, her hand reached up to the nape of his neck, drawing his mouth to hers as she twisted to face him.

Killian was momentarily struck dumb. The sensation of her lips against his, her hands clutching him close caught his breath as they headed unexpectedly into a rapidly dizzying kiss.

 _They fit perfectly_. His head dipped just enough to meet hers, his hands moved from her arms and sunk into the curve of her waist, drawing her close until his thigh slid between her legs.

Her lips were warm and soft, they parted eagerly, deepening the kiss, pulling them both further into the moment, the world around them fading to empty blackness. She was all gentle curves and the scent of sweet soap and leather.

She pressed herself closer to him. Her breasts crushed against his chest and she cursed the twin layers of leather she wore. Her hands clutched the nape of his neck more tightly, one slipping into his hair, drawing languidly through the silky strands until he groaned softly, the sound sending a tightening to her gut. He wanted this as much as she did.

The chill was all forgotten. She was now burning. Her skin, her blood, her very essence. His kiss, his touch, had ignited something she had long locked away. A recklessness and a desire she had told herself was lost to her. But here it was, rising to the fore as his wicked lips tore her away from reality and made her believe in the possibility of something more. She rocked against his leg thigh between hers. It wasn't enough to ease the ache inside of her. Desperate, she ran an eager hand over the strong line of his jaw, cupping his face, pouring all she couldn't say with words into the embrace.

Tightening his hands about her waist, he felt the surge of desire and want that their kiss brought with it. The need for more. He tried to temper this- it was not the time, nor the place. He already knew that Emma was special. If he rushed, if he didn't take care, he would send her skittering away. Life had not been kind. He could relate to that. All these thoughts jumbled and tossed through his brain as he fought the urges of lust and needing- feelings he felt emanating in waves from her as she rocked her body against him and scored his burning skin with her eager fingers.

She ached for more, feeling wanton and desired. She was dizzy with unexpected need for him. It left her breathless, the tension creeping up her spine, a building sensation, like the twisting of a screw-

It wasn't often he lost control. He was no innocent with women, even if he shied away from relationships. He knew how to seduce; how to tease and tempt. But she was the temptress here. Building the moment in a swirling, whirling blur-

Finally, she gasped, pulling back, sucking in a cooling breath as his mouth fell to her neck, his own shuddering breaths a pairing to her own.

His hands slowly loosened about her waist. She slid hers to his shoulders where they remained limply for a moment.

"I should- I should go," she finally said, her voice husky and low. She didn't want to go. She wanted to pull him back into the kiss. To drag him to her apartment. To take this to its inevitable conclusion. Yet something stopped her. An understanding that he seemed to share that now was not the time.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to her. Nodding a grizzled, "Aye," in reply.

He looked wrecked. His hair mussed, lips swollen, desire in his gaze.

Not now, was the unspoken understanding. _But soon._

With a smile, she made to move away, but he caught her hand, quickly pulling it to his lips. "Goodnight Swan."

A heartbeat passed.

"Goodnight Lieutenant."

Then before she could give into the urge to pull his mouth to hers again, she slipped away.


End file.
